


illusion

by bj62



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bj62/pseuds/bj62
Summary: this is being written out of frustration and although I might replies, this is mainly as a catharsis.  By writing I can see patterns emerge.  She is me and I may delete it at anytime.Just like Beyond Control was to help me heal from my rape, this is to help me heal my life.A lot of ugly stuff happened and I need to write so that i can see patterns emerge and then I can stop them from recurring.I am a work in progress.  Writing helps me like my painting, singing and other activities.so enter at your own risk.  And if you can't say something nice, shut up.I still practice Random Acts of Kindness, talk and answer myself and do the best I can to spread joy in such a negative world.I miss my cat and i hand out prayers, but the demons haunt me.  this is my way of eradicating the demons and hopefully live my life better.thanksbarb





	illusion

**Author's Note:**

> this is being written out of frustration and although I might replies, this is mainly as a catharsis. By writing I can see patterns emerge. She is me and I may delete it at anytime.
> 
> Just like Beyond Control was to help me heal from my rape, this is to help me heal my life.
> 
> A lot of ugly stuff happened and I need to write so that i can see patterns emerge and then I can stop them from recurring.
> 
> I am a work in progress. Writing helps me like my painting, singing and other activities.
> 
> so enter at your own risk. And if you can't say something nice, shut up. 
> 
> I still practice Random Acts of Kindness, talk and answer myself and do the best I can to spread joy in such a negative world. 
> 
> I miss my cat and i hand out prayers, but the demons haunt me. this is my way of eradicating the demons and hopefully live my life better.
> 
> thanks
> 
> barb

Life is an illusion at best. 

She had always been a sickly child who needed extra care and attention. From the moment she was born, till now she fought some type of demons... As the years went by, she struggled with moments of joy and moments of satisfaction. Loving a man who had loved her without question or reason. Loving this man with joy because he had accepted her and believed in her. The abilities she thought she lacked, she found with him. That was what mattered. The love and the connection that grew with each passing day, and continued long after his death. Despite the setbacks, she felt his presence. She needed it to continue.

Others remembered her as the frail child who was not only sick physically but mentally. God had blessed her with these challenges. Much as she wanted to die in his place, no matter how many times she tried to cross over and end it all, God decided that she should live. For whatever reason that was beyond her comprehension, she breathed still.

And in the wee small hours of the morning when she missed him most, she would wake and almost call out his name.

Her entire being would ache for that touch. She would ache for that want that had become such a need. The child that had been abused and handled so callously, longed for the gentleness and strength she had found with him. She dare not cry out. She dare not moan out of the need that lingered still. The need that increased in times of stress. 

He had taught her well. Clothing was not optional when it came to sleep. The warmth of the flesh was greater than any garment of clothing. It would be increased by moving in those wonderful arms. Those arms and the hands that knew where to touch. They knew the secrets to spreading the legs open and for the hips to thrust. They knew that it would lead to the moistening of the lips and the play that lead to the joy: to the rapture.

The images of the assault came flooding back with a vengeance when she was raped by someone she knew. Years after the death of the man who taught her to live, a simple dinner ended up with non-consentual sex. A silent plea that it would be brief. A silent plea that it would not happen. She had been celibate since the death of her husband, and it was a few days prior to the date of their anniversary.

Memories were shattered by a man young enough to be her son. Hairy and coarse and 'love' taps that left marks came along with shock and disbelief. She would do anything to prevent it from happening. She took him to the shower and closed her eyes, praying he would cum in the crack of her ass. He was drunk and klutzy. He was overpowering, and she froze in shock and disbelief.  
The aggravating thing was that her body had not been touched for so long that it was betraying her.  
Despite the fact that she did not want this, he managed to push the right buttons and cause her body to react.

It brought back memories of the assault years ago... the numerous times when she was stripped naked and felt the weight of a man on top of her. Awakening senses in her that should have been saved for the back seat of a car with an awkward teenager. Instead it was an insensuous relationship that was so abhorrent that she would block out the memory. Unfortunately, the memories would come back in flashbacks. There is nothing more terrifying than sitting in a class and suddenly feeling the weight of an unwanted body on you as you concentrate on the formula for salt or water.

While the abuse continued, part of her separated from herself and stood watch. That part of her floated about the ceiling and observed as he took her clothes off, and as he touched her. He touched her without regard to how she felt. She was afraid to move while the abuse took place. Like the few days before her anniversary when she was taken... coerced into doing something that her mind did not want. She was afraid, and felt worthless. Her body betrayed her while her mind screamed. She felt like she had been thrown to the wolves. 

She felt like a whore who was used to being abused and loved the feel of it... she loved every single touch. Part of her was turned on by being beaten as long as her body was touched. It reminded her of the beatings at the hand of her father. At first the sting was painful but it soon suffused her with a warmth that was deeper than any touch her body had felt. She could feel the tingle in her loins. 

Her mother had a strong hand, but this her father and the belt gave a deeper sensation.


End file.
